


quite new a thing

by annundriel



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Panties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 07:13:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6792814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annundriel/pseuds/annundriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bitty buys them on a whim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	quite new a thing

**Author's Note:**

> Title from e.e. cummings.

Bitty buys them on a whim, a perfect scrap of Falconers’ blue lace that slips beneath his fingers soft as air. He’s almost not even sure he’s touching them at first, they feel so light, and that’s what gets him. Well. That and the color. They capture his imagination, and he stands there in the store wondering what they’d feel like elsewhere, what they’d _look_ , what Jack would think if he slipped his hand beneath Bitty’s shorts and found…

Bitty buys them, his face red, and they sit in the back of his dresser drawer for a week, a beacon at the back of his mind whenever he gets dressed in the morning. It isn’t until he’s back in his room with a towel slung low on his hips, his hair still damp from his shower, that he thinks about trying them on.

It’s late, and the Haus is quiet around him, save for the muffled sound of Holster and Ransom arguing about…something in the attic. Bitty bites his lip, worrying it between his teeth as he pauses with the drawer open. Jack’s going to be calling him in ten minutes, and that’s enough time to try them on, surely? He reaches for them, heart skipping.

They’re as soft as he remembers, which seems impossible, and when Bitty pulls them up his thighs, up and over his dick, he shivers. He stands in the privacy of his room, cradled by blue lace, and goosebumps rise across his skin. He wasn’t sure they’d actually fit, but they do. The lace boyshorts fit him like they were made for him, and he wishes for a moment that he had a full-length mirror in his room so he could see himself. He twists, trying to get a better look at how they fit from behind, and hopes they look as good as they feel.

He jumps when his phone buzzes with a text he knows must be Jack. Grabbing his _Zimmermann_ shirt and pulling it over his head, he opens his laptop and calls him.

The panties don’t get mentioned, and when Jack yawns and says good night, when they disconnect, Bitty lies in the dark of his room and wonders how Jack feels about lace.

Five days later, Bitty’s standing in Jack’s bathroom, overnight bag on the floor next to him, panties in his hand. He’d packed them at the last minute, stuffing them down beneath his other clothes and Señor Bun, traveled to Providence with them there in his bag. He hadn’t worn them, though he’d thought about it. Nerves had won out and Jack had a game and there was no telling how either of them would feel after…

He’s supposed to be getting ready for bed. Instead he stands with the fabric in hand, the lace soft against his skin, and remembers the way they’d felt when he’d tried them on, smooth and snug. The way they’d made him feel sexy, a little naughty. He blushes now and glances at the door to the bedroom where he knows Jack is already reclining against his pillows, waiting for Bitty. They hadn’t really…planned anything; it had been a long day for both of them, Bitty with classes and Jack with the game, but Bitty can’t stop himself wondering what Jack would do if he stepped through the door wearing these. Wearing only these.

With shaking hands, he puts them on. Then he opens the door.

Jack’s lying in bed, shirtless already, gray sleep pants slung low on his hips. He’s reading in the light of his bedside lamp, and something goes warm and gooey in the center of Bitty’s chest at the sight of him, at the slightly curling hair at his forehead and the shadow of his lashes as he blinks, at the width of his fingers and the way he holds his book. Even his bare feet make Bitty’s heart melt. And so he stands there, one hand on the bathroom’s door frame and watches, waiting for Jack to notice him.

It takes a minute or two, and then Jack turns a page and asks, “Aren’t you coming to—”

Bitty’s heart rabbits away in his chest and he knows he’s blushing, can feel the fire in his cheeks and in his blood. This isn’t something they’ve talked about, and Bitty finds himself playing with the lip of the door frame, bending his toes against the bathroom tile, doing anything but looking at Jack.

Jack, who isn’t speaking. Who hasn’t made a sound since he noticed Bitty.

Lord. 

What is he doing, if he can’t try something new with his boyfriend and face the consequences, good or bad?

He looks up.

Book in his lap, the last page Jack was on flutters as it escapes from Jack’s pinning thumb. Jack is looking at him. Jack is staring. Jack’s eyes have gone dark and heavy-lidded and his cheeks are flushed and, oh, Jack licks his lips and, oh, Jack—

The book ends up discarded on the nightstand, no thought for Jack’s lost place.

“Jack?”

Jack blinks at him, and then he’s pushing up from the bed, all broad chest and shifting muscle. He’s standing and Bitty’s frozen in place, unable to move, unable to do anything but watch Jack close the distance between them. His mouth is dry and his heart is pounding and there’s a look in Jack’s eyes that makes something hot and shivery curl at the base of his spine.

He’s staring, he knows he is. But so is Jack. Bitty would almost call that gaze a caress if he didn’t feel it so firmly against him. The knowledge of Jack’s eyes is overwhelming, and Bitty has to look away, has to focus on anything but the way Jack’s looking at him with eyes gone dark.

He focuses instead on Jack’s chest, the smattering of hair there, the points of his nipples. Focuses on the planes of his abs and the cut of his hips, the line leading from navel down, down, down past the waistband of his pants. Bitty swallows, flushing at the bulge below, desperate to reach out and touch, ground them in the familiar once again. They know each other, their bodies know each other. Let that be all there is.

But then Jack shifts. He shifts and he’s on his knees and now he’s looking up at Bitty instead of the other way around and Bitty’s heart and breath are in his throat because Jack is looking at him like…like…

“Bitty,” he says, and his voice is low and rough and warm, full of everything they’re both getting used to saying and hearing and deserving. “Bitty.”

Jack reaches for him, hands pausing inches from his waist. The heat of him from this distance is maddening, and all Bitty wants is for Jack to _touch_ him, to press those palms against his hips. He waits, though, not wanting to rush Jack when this is still so new. He waits, and he tries to remember how to breathe, chest rising and falling as Jack’s eyes travel the demarcation of skin and lace. Bitty knows the blue looks good against his skin, he knows that much. What he doesn’t know is how they look to Jack.

Bitty swallows.

Jack’s thumbs brush the tender skin at Bitty’s hips.

Bitty can’t breathe.

Jack’s fingers brush the curve of Bitty’s ass through the lace.

Bitty’s heart is going to pound through his chest at this rate.

Those hands—those perfect, wide hands, rough with callouses from years of hard work—settle on Bitty’s hips light as the lace already there. Jack looks at him up at him and Bitty is gone, he is gone.

Jack looks up at him with his too-blue eyes. His cheeks are flushed. When he licks his lips, Bitty can’t look away from the pink tip of his tongue or the shine it leaves on his bottom lip. And then Jack is leaning in and Bitty can feel his breath low on his stomach, lower still on his dick. He has time to think, _This is how I die_ , before Jack’s face is tucked against him, separated only by lace.

Bitty is only human, skin and muscle and bone and the blood that pounds through his veins as Jack traces the line of his cock with the tip of his nose. It’s a barely there touch, more tease than anything, but Bitty feels it in the core of him, the way Jack’s breath fills the infinitesimal space between them, the way Jack pauses low against his balls. The brief flick, almost imagined, of tongue when Jack licks his lips. Bitty’s grip on the door jamb tightens, his fingers itching to touch the smoothly muscled skin of Jack’s shoulder, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. He stands, breath held, as Jack nuzzles against him.

Time passes, though Bitty isn’t sure how much. It feels like it’s thick as molasses, like it’s stopped completely here in Jack’s apartment. Bitty is aware of the tile beneath his feet and the wood beneath his hand, of his skin beneath the panties beneath Jack’s palms.

Of his cock beneath Jack’s mouth, so little separating them.

He knew Jack could chirp with the best of them; he wasn’t aware Jack was such a tease.

Jack’s fingers drag against him as his hands slip from Bitty’s hips to his ass. He squeezes, and Bitty sighs, pushing back into Jack’s grip, pushing his fingers—finally—into Jack’s hair. Jack turns into his touch, a move that makes something in Bitty thrill, skin singing.

“Jack,” he says, “I—”

Hot breath ghosts over him. That’s all the warning Bitty gets before Jack mouths at his cock through the lace and everything in Bitty’s brain—words, thoughts, abstract concepts, pies—turns to white noise, a buzzing, fuzzing sound that fills him from the top of his head to the soles of his feet.

Jack fits his lips against him, sucking lightly at Bitty as he follows the line of his cock from base to tip. He takes his time, and all Bitty can do is hold on with his gently tangled fingers in Jack’s hair as Jack presses his mouth deliberately against him. A kiss here and here and here, Jack pressing forward with his tongue, before moving up and up, covering each inch of him carefully as Bitty watches.

If he had told Jack about the panties before, would this still have been his reaction? Would he have asked to see them that night on Skype? _Lord_ , Bitty thinks, wondering at the possibility, considering the nights ahead that might involve Jack miles away and Bitty’s own palm against his cock, his own hand slipping beneath the waistband to curl fingers around his length.

Jack watching him as he watched earlier, eyes gone hot and dark, the both of them touching themselves as Bitty...

Bitty shakes himself and stares at Jack’s bent head, his broad shoulders, the tender soles of his feet. There’s something about the sight of them turned up as Jack kneels before him that makes Bitty’s heart feel too full even as Jack’s mouth brushes the head of his cock through the panties, a hint of breath and wetness, of pressure. He pauses there, eyes flickering upward briefly before they slip closed and he fits his lips over the head, sucks at Bitty through the fabric.

“Oh _my_.” Bitty’s hand tightens in Jack’s hair as his other hand finds Jack’s shoulder, fingertips skimming the smooth skin there. Jack hums against him, and Bitty’s grip tightens further, breath catching as his knees go weak, as everything inside him threatens to boil over.

“Bits,” Jack sighs, and Bitty knows it’s his name, recognizes the consonants and vowel, the sibilant _s_ at the end, but he never thought…he never…Bitty’s not sure he’ll ever get used to hearing this particular combination of name and tone, of want naked in Jack’s voice. Bitty feels it in his bone, feels it right down to the core of him. “Bits,” Jack says, his thumbs at Bitty’s hips like bookmarks, saving his spot for later. He tilts his head and nuzzles at Bitty’s thigh, tongue teasing where the panties meet skin.

Lace clings to his skin, and Bitty clings to Jack.

Jack’s hands shift, palms smoothing up past the panties to Bitty’s sides as he moves closer to press open-mouthed kisses to Bitty’s skin. Each touch of lips, every tease of tongue against his stomach, against his abdomen, makes Bitty shiver as Jack holds him close. Loosening his grip, Bitty’s hand slides through Jack’s hair to cradle the back of his head, his other hand joining it. Jack is strong and broad and warm against him, and Bitty feels like he’s burning up, like he’s going to combust right here and now. It doesn’t get any better when Jack tilts his head back into Bitty’s hands and looks up at him with a soft smile that Bitty’s learned to read in the time they’ve been together. Jack loves him, he knows. Jack _loves him_. The proof, if Bitty ever needed it, is there in the confines of that smile, caught in the corners of his upturned lips.

Bitty smiles back, fingers gentle against Jack’s scalp, and Jack beams at him, bright and joyous, before he goes back to pressing kisses to Bitty’s skin. There’s no pattern Bitty can discern, but he knows the destination all the same as Jack makes his way back down, hands skimming his sides until his fingers hook in the waistband of the panties. With great care, he pulls them down, easing them over the bulge of Bitty’s cock, tugging until Bitty is free.

It’s both a relief and a tease. He can feel Jack’s breath on his damp skin, can feel every shift of fabric against his thighs. Jack is looking at him like he’s the world, and all Bitty wants is to feel Jack against him, his mouth or his hand or the cut of his hip. Anything. Everything.

Jack licks his lips and closes the distance between them. His mouth is hot on Bitty’s cock, the flat of his tongue perfect beneath the crown. Bitty groans, fingers tightening in Jack’s hair. He’ll be a mess later—they both will—with his hair sticking up every which way and the bite marks Bitty’s been planning since his last visit. He’ll be Bitty’s, obviously Bitty’s. Even if it’s only for a little while.

Against his hip, Jack’s hand is steady. Around his cock, Jack’s grip is firm. Around the head, Jack’s mouth is perfect. He sucks at Bitty, and Bitty hangs on, does his best not to push forward, not to take more than is given until Jack is ready to give it. He holds himself in check and then Jack is sinking lower, taking more, his hand at the base gone.

Bitty’s gone, too.

He comes with a groan, Jack’s name on his lips and Jack’s lips on his skin. He comes with only Jack to hold him up, the door jamb at his side.

Bitty comes, and when he’s done Jack is smiling up at him, color high in his cheeks and eyes full of something that might be delight or might be mischief. His heart beats madly in his chest.

“Jack,” he says, then swallows when his voice comes out hoarse. He tries again. “I wanted to surprise you, Jack. I saw them and I thought of you, and I wanted to surprise you. I hope you like them. I hope you—”

He’s not sure how, exactly, Jack ends up on his feet so quickly or how Jack gets him over his shoulder in the blink of an eye. But he does, and Bitty’s dizzy and laughing and, oh, where are they going, where are—

“Where are you taking me, Jack Zimmermann?”

Jack laughs, and the sound rumbles through Bitty.

“I’m going to show you how much I like them,” he says.

Bitty’s body sings.


End file.
